


started with a prank, ended with a peace

by Spoofymcgee



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anakin Skywalker Hates Sand, Anakin Skywalker is a himbo, Background Obi-Wan Kenobi/Kit Fisto, Background Relationships, Background Thorn/Quinlan Vos, Bad Interior Decorating, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, Interior Decorating, Mentioned Sheev Palpatine | Darth Sidious, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Tropical Interior Decorating, but you won't convince me otherwise, sand, yes i will be taking comments at this time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27642416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoofymcgee/pseuds/Spoofymcgee
Summary: "Good morning, Master Windu," he greets, tone properly genteel. Keeping his eyes trained on the back of a Trandoshian-know for their, shall we say, intense art styles-painting hanging on the opposite wall, or relatively around Mace's ninth rib, he floats a plated pile of pastries into the air. "I don't suppose I can interest you in a crumblebun?""No," Mace replies, and it's just on the edge of a growl. "But you can interest me in what involvement you have with the Chancellor reportedly being tried on harassment charges."
Relationships: Barriss Offee/Ahsoka Tano, CT-7567 | Rex & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 7
Kudos: 150





	started with a prank, ended with a peace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nibylandia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nibylandia/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Jar full of sand](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24511234) by [Nibylandia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nibylandia/pseuds/Nibylandia). 



> this one is for Nibylandia, whose fic jar full of sand was the starting point for this one. thanks for letting me write this, i had so much fun with it.

The comm is screaming in his ear.  
Priority alert, designed to wake him up from the deepest of stim-crash sleeps, and _really fucking annoying.  
_ "What in the name of all eleven of the Corellian hells do you want?" he asks blearily, switching on holocording. He doesn't care if it's fucking Dooku calling to tell him the CIS is going to surrender, it's o'six, he's on leave, nearly caught up on paperwork and really karking tired.

"Master?" Anakin's voice wavers nervously, almost as though he's afraid. "Are you there?"  
"Anakin?" the last of slumber slides off Obi-Wan's shoulders, erased by alarm brought about through the dark fear edging Anakin's tone. "What's wrong?"  
"Master, I need your help," the hazy blue background flickers, and Obi-Wan thinks he can make out long hallways, lined with doors. A steady stream of people flicker at the 'recorder's limit.

"What with? And are you in the _Senate?_ " Obi-Wan asks, standing and stretching, fears somewhat assuaged by the idea. His spine fires off a series of loud _crack_ s, and tosses a fond glance at Ahsoka, tangled up asleep on the other sofa, teetering alarmingly. Her cheek is pressed up against an ostensibly ugly but unfairly soft cushion. Study books lie open on the floor around her, half a dozen different subjects, and the sleeve of her sweater is spotted with ink from the stylus clutched tightly in one fist. 

"I might be," Anakin answers, shifting. "And, well…" he scratches the back of his head, shifts uncomfortably.   
"You interrupted my nap, Anakin, so either tell me what it is, or let me go back to sleep,"  
"I need you to teach me diplomacy," he blurts, head hung slightly.  
Obi-Wan's brows furrow.

"You need a refresher course?" he asks, dread pooling in his gut. Anakin had supposedly gotten high marks in his diplomatic course as a senior padawan, something he'd had many an opportunity to doubt in the last two years.

"No-o," Anakin answers, dragging the word out. Obi-Wan freezes, spoonful of sweetener halfway to his cup of tea. "Not quite. Y'see, it's pretty funny actually, Master Jaakov needed the cooling unit fixed right around my final exam, and well…" he trails off, fidgeting with the excess fabric of his robe's sleeves.  
"I see absolutely nothing amusing at all about that," Obi-Wan says flatly, staring at him. He's going to be having _words_ with Master Jaakov when they next get back to the temple.  
"Neither do I," Anakin agrees miserably. "But-please, master? It's important, I promise!"

"Tell me the reason for your newfound fascination with the art of judiciousness, and then we'll see," a few careful steps brings him to the little table in the middle of their small quarters, legs carved to yawning snakes. He admires them idly for a moment, glad he'd pushed Ahsoka into carving for her mandated Force Arts elective.  
"The Chancellor's, um, _redecorated_ his office," Anakin replies. His eyes are wild, dark with desperation, shoulders taunt and countenance drawn. "It's-it's _themed_ . _Tropical._ There's _sand,_ Obi-Wan. So much _sand,_ " he's inching his way to utterly terrified, voice jumping when he says the word.

Obi-Wan stares uncomprehendingly at the sputtering holo. 

" _Sand?_ " he asks incredulously, digging up the one last dusty, wrinkled fuck he has to give and chucking it in Anakin's direction.

_\----_

"Well?" Ahsoka asks impatiently, stretching and narrowly avoiding smacking Barriss in the face.

"Hey! Watch where you put your hands!" she complains. 

"Sorry, sorry."

"Couples squabbles aside," Rex grins widely back at Ahsoka's outraged silence. "What _are_ we going to do?"

"I don't know," Obi-Wan sighs, slumping further into his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose. "On one hand, it's practically a miracle. I've been particularly uncomfortable with the _arrangement_ since Anakin was nine and Palpatine first started requesting visits with him. On the other, he's the _Chancellor._ Anakin can't exactly just give him the cold shoulder. They still have to interact on a regular basis about the _karking_ war."

"What about the karking war?" Quinlan asks, slinking into the room and settling comfortably on the armrest of Obi-Wan's chair and stealing his tea.  
"We're just discussing Chancellor Palpatine's apparent newfound interest in tropical themed interior decorating, master," a tiny Aayla informs him cheerfully, waving from the conn's position on the table.  
  
Quinlan, halfway through a sip of pilfered beverage, _chokes._

It takes him quite a few minutes to stop suffocating on his leaf water. " _What?!_ "   
Ahsoka catches her case of giggles before it can break out. "That's what I said!"   
"No, how do you _know_ about that?" he demands indignantly, then looks around in the best of silence that follows and hangs his head. "Fuck," he mutters.   
Aayla hums in agreement. "I assume it's rather obvious at this point, but I think I'll ask anyway; how did _you_ know about the-decor situation, let's call it."  
"On a completely _related_ note," Obi-Wan asks, lips twitching and spine straightening with the promise of mischief. "How _is_ Commander Thorn doing?" 

Quinlan groans. "It's not like _that..._ Alright _, fine,_ maybe it _is._ " he complains, sliding, sleenlike, to press his stomach onto Obi-Wan's lap and draping himself across the armchair with all the hard earned grace of a hunting loth-cat and very nearly as much drama as a Skywalker.  
When Aayla says as much, she's met with at least three indignant ' _hey!'_ s and gives Rex, Ahsoka and Padmé, sweeping into the room in full Senate robes, a moment to realize exactly what they've said. 

"It's alright," Barriss consoles Ahsoka, petting her gently between the montrals. "I love you anyway."  
Pouting, she lifts her feet and shimmies farther onto Barriss in order to make room for the comparative sheer volume of Nubian finery.

"I think you embody the more violent Skywalker aspects, Captain," Obi-Wan muses, stroking his beard with one hand and rubbing gentle rings between Quinlan's shoulders with the other.   
Rex shrugs, grins unashamedly. "Wait around the next time someone flings me off a cliff and find out," Obi-Wan deflates again.

"I wish you'd stop doing that," he tells Ahsoka. Quinlan's head lifts slightly.  
"Why?" she asks, diabolical grin creeping across her face.   
"Cody keeps begging me to fling him at battledroids, wants to know why _Rex_ is the only one who gets Force-thrown," he complains, taking his cup back when Quinlan holds it out and staring into it morosely. "He _headbutted_ a commando last week. Couldn't tell me his own name, and had to spend three days in medical. I-" he cuts off, realization dawning on his face, and pulling, along with it, incredulous fury. "You!" he shouts, turning to Ahsoka. "You're encouraging him! You-"

"Calm down, Obi," Quinlan says, turning onto his back and reaching up to pat him on the shoulder.  
He huffs indignantly. "I will not!"   
"What if Anakin just started ignoring him?" Padmé muses, pulling a datapad from some pocket on her dress and scrolling through it.  
"Who? Rex?" Obi-Wan asks. "I doubt that would help. Not unless _Ahsoka_ also-"  
"No," she interrupts. "The Chancellor."  
  
"Hmm," Aayla considers, head tilted slightly. "Couldn't he just-you know," she makes a vague gesture. "He's the Chancellor."  
"And yet, not immune to the law," Obi-Wan replies, tapping his finger lightly on Quinlan's ribcage. "Should he do anything that could be considered harassment, we could potentially bring him to court."  
  
"Not kick him out of office, surely?" Barriss asks, eyes wide.  
"No," Obi-Wan agrees, shaking his head. "Much as I dislike him, we can't afford a change in leadership if we want to win this war. Likely a restraining order wouldn't be enough for people to lose confidence in him anyway. His character, perhaps, but not his skill at politics."  
"He's the Chancellor, though," Ahsoka points out. "He couldn't, I dunno, just waive it?"  
"No," Padmé says. "Not without invoking public outrage. I'd know better than anyone the high standards public figures are held to. That doesn't mean plenty aren't still terrible people, because they just take extra care to keep it quiet, but if we _made_ it public, people would be thirsting for his blood before the day'd be done."

_\-----_

"Kenobi," Mace says, appearing in front of the refectory table. Sun reflects off his scalp, pooling watery and weak against the cool lavender wall. No one, perhaps, but another Councillor, would notice the the slight crookedness of his tabards, the ink marks on his sleeves and the heavy, rectangle outlines weighing down his pockets and see _frazzled._   
Obi-Wan _is_ another Councillor.  
He will not, however, be looking at Mace this morning.  
"Good morning, Master Windu," he greets, tone properly genteel. Keeping his eyes trained on the back of a Trandoshian-know for their, shall we say, _intense_ art styles-painting hanging on the opposite wall, or relatively around Mace's ninth rib, he floats a plated pile of pastries into the air. "I don't suppose I can interest you in a crumblebun?"  
"No," Mace replies, and it's _just_ on the edge of a growl. "But you _can_ interest me in what involvement you have with the Chancellor reportedly being tried on harassment charges."  
"Didn't Depa tell you to stop reading the tabloids with first meal?" chances are, everyone in the refectory can see his distracted attempts at derailing the conversation for exactly what they are; terrible stalling as he desperately searches out the hall's exits. "It's not good for your blood pressure." 

Mace's eye twitches, as does his hand; the latter directioned towards a particularly sharp knife near the breadbasket.  
"Should I leave? I feel like I should leave. This seems like something I need to leave for," Bant questions, setting down her glass of milk.   
"You're _fine,_ Knight Eerin," he grinds out.

Smart of him to corner Obi-Wan here, rather than catch him in the hall, or somewhere else more secluded.

Not that it's necessary.

Obi-Wan absolutely _would not_ jab the Master of the Order in the solar plexus and book it out of the Temple to avoid this conversation. He _would not,_ he swears on his mother's grave. _(His mother, as far as he knows, is alive and thriving back on Stewjon and anyway Obi-Wan is a notorious oath-breaker and we'll know for his dramatic exaggerations; something he'll deny right into his grave, but very much inherited from his late master.)_ "No, Obi-Wan," Bant hisses, jabbing him in the ribcage with webbed fingers.  
"I didn't say anything!" he protests, fending off another attack with a disposable straw wrapper.  
"You were thinking it," she omines, snatching a muffin from his plate.  
" _Obi-Wan,_ " Mace insists, tapping his foot.  
"Why are you threatening my boyfriend at oh eight hundred, Mace?" Kit asks, sliding into the bench and leaning sideways to wrap both arms around Obi-Wan's waist and prop his head on a cloak-padded shoulder. "You aren't allowed to yell at anyone before o'ten, Mace. It's not good for your blood pressure."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Mace take a breath that rattles dangerously on the way down.   
"I think," he whispers. "That there are _extenuating circumstances._ "  
"Oh, good morning, Master Windu," Ahsoka greets cheerily, before stopping dead at his stormy visage. "Hm. You're angry. Should I call Master Billaba to walk you through some breathing exercises?"

Mace _crumples._

"No, thank you, padawan," he mutters dejectedly, and slumps off, robes pulled tight in a half-assed attempt to maintain some semblance of dignity.  
Ahsoka watches him go.  
"Was it something I said?" she wonders aloud.

_\-----_

"Get back here, you karking asshat!" Rex shrieks, plowing through the crowd of civilians. Anakin laughs, far enough away that he catches wisps of ghostly chuckles, which serves only to make him angrier. "I _will_ put sand in your sheets!"  
He stops dead, sudden enough to cause a minor pedestrian pileup. By the time everyone's sorted out and finished screaming at each other (ah, the joys of Coruscanti civilians) Rex is standing at the edge of the wet pavement square his general has catapulted into, tapping his foot.   
"You know that's made out of sand, right?" he asks. Anakin closes his eyes and sighs dejectedly. 

"Have you tried washing it?" he asks with very little hope.  
"Yes," Rex answers stonily, scrubbing on hand through his shock of bright lime hair.  
"I'm sorry?" Anakin offers up, lifting one arm out of the muddy mixture with an unpleasant squelching sound.   
"Sand," Rex growls holding out a hand for him of grab. "Bedsheets."  
"Nooooooooooo!!!!" 

"What, no thank you for getting you out of becoming part of the walkway, Skywalker?" Anakin's eyes glint dangerously.  
"Thank you!" he cries, jumping on Rex and wrestling him to the pavement to become a human mattress. They tussle for a bit before Rex manages to get him off and glowers down at his blacks, coated in wet duracrete.   
"I hate you," he says decidedly.

_\-----_

The crack of a 'pad hitting the table in front of her makes Padmé jump, sending her caf flying. It hits Threepio, who groans resignedly, as though this is a daily occurrence, and bowls over, sounding a loud crash as he hits the floor.  
"What?" she asks, annoyedly, as Anakin moves to help the droid up, muttering about balance and leg motors.  
"Congrats," Sabé says, crossing both arms over the shadow-black fabric of her shirt. "You've officially gotten the Chancellor canceled."  
"What?" this time it's less questioning and more confused.  
"The public is calling out for his resignation. Someone released the pictures of him and your _husband_ ," she jerks a thumb in Anakin's direction. "Back when he was physically a toddler and not just one mentally," Anakin squawks offendedly, and drops Threepio to the floor with another, louder banging sound. Padmé makes a go on motion with the hand not occupied in making herself a fresh cup.

In the background, Artoo not-so-gently pushes him out of the way, and sets to helping Threepio to his feet. This is, somehow, more effective than when Anakin had been doing it, which makes no sense, as Artoo doesn't have hands.  
"And footage some droid apparently caught of the conversation between Kenobi, Windu and Palpakriff prior to that. No one thinks a man in such a position of power has any business forcing a child's guardians to hand over the kid for outings to the most dangerous of the lower levels and _fucking_ cantinas on a weekly basis."

This time, it's Anakin with the 'what?'  
Sabé nods, biting the inside of her cheek. "Yeah. I'm sorry, Skywalker,"  
Anakin looks as though he's been run over by a speeder transport.   
"Obi-Wan never told me," he murmurs, staring down at his hands.  
"Well," Padmé offers, only half-joking. "With such horrible taste in interior decorating, would you really expect anything else?" This, for whatever reason, appears to cheer him right up.  
"Yeah. Yeah, thanks Padmé. Love you," he drops a kiss on her temple, and saunters off out the door, leaving his wife gaping, and Sabé attempting to integrate her palm into her forehead.  
"Wait, no! Ani, interior decorating skills are not reflective of a person's morals! Aniiiii!!"

_\-----_

In the bowels of the Senate district, two cadet squads are stuck in a staring contest, news of the former Chancellor's abdication playing quietly from a small 'pad lying on the floor between them.

"It was just supposed to be a prank," someone whispers, staring down at footage of the trial in abject horror.

"We never speak of this," one decides finally. The rest nod gravely, and set to shoving plast trees and buckets of sand underneath the bunks. 

**Author's Note:**

> i don't think this needs any trigger warnings or a higher rating? if you think it does please please tell me.


End file.
